


Come Home

by Ilostmywho



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:58:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilostmywho/pseuds/Ilostmywho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is writing an evaluation of the mission in Forget Me Not, when he starts thinking about Fi instead. Things he should have done, and things he should have said...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Home

They had hit some rough patches before but nothing like this. She had walked by him.

It was over, she had chosen. He missed her already.

The thought of what they might be doing right now made him cringe but he forced himself to get his shit together.

He looked around for a pen, found one in a drawer. He wrote the date, the necessities, scribbled in the fields, left nothing unaccounted for. But he wasn't paying attention, he'd written so many assesments over the years. All the hours he'd wasted, crossing t:s and dotting i:s. So much time he could've spent with her. She had chosen now, and she hadn't chosen him. That made his choice very easy. He could either work for the CIA or... nothing. Where there had always been another option there was now a human-shaped hole. She had deserved better, and the only thing that had changed was that she had realized it herself. He had no right to feel sorry, neither for her nor himself.

Line after line was tainted with his handwriting yet he had no concept of what his hands were doing. He thought about the way she'd used to perch up on the chair in the kitchen after getting a yoghurt or simply stealing his.

Fi. He wanted to jot down her name in the papers, wanted to tell someone in this world that she'd made him a different man. But what did that matter now. It never mattered who he was unless she was there beside him. She was fearless, he was calm, but you never could tell unless you watched them play each other out. He didn't want to look ahead, didn't want to think about the lonely nights to come.

Maybe he should start seeing someone new. Wouldn't that be okay? It would, but the thought ate away at him.

_I'd rather be alone than happy with someone else_.

If he gave up now, moved on, the last years would crumble to pieces, lose their meaning.

I did it all because of you. _Because of who you were to me._

It felt wrong to think of it as love. She didn't love him back so why should he keep telling himself that what he felt was just that? She didn't want to be loved. Not by him.

He thought of where to go next. Probably some cheap motel, fall into a bed, try to sleep this day away. The Dominican Republic suddenly felt less repugnant. There was nothing left for him here. Friends, yes, but he'd left them before and he knew they'd carry on. His mother too, now that she had Charlie.

Fiona. He could see her in front of him, on the other side of the desk, head inclined to the side, fidgeting, rolling her eyes at the uselessness of papers upon papers. In some way he guessed he should be grateful for the loss of leverage, somene who refused to acknowledge him was worth considerably less than someone who always fought beside him. Without her he could immerse himself in work, let it wash him away. He had no one waiting for him to get back.

Out in the corridor someone dropped what sounded like a box of papers, creating a ruckus in the process. He awoke from his immobilising thoughts and looked down at the paper.

What was the question?

“Additional comments:”

_Wherever she is, is home._

But in her heart, home was someone else.


End file.
